Truly Terrible Tales: Dearest Readers

Dearest Readers,Are you well? I do very much hope so. I very much hope you are very well and not at all ill. I do honestly hope you do not experience what others most slanderously call paranoia, because of course it is only paranoia if you have nothing to fear. In fact paranoia is quite preferable to that accusation, since at the very least you are not in any real danger. Though of course there is nothing lurking just in the shadows behind you, lapping at its orangish lips with a long black tongue. A tongue that swirls ready to pass between razor sharp ivory teeth to drag itself along your neck as you slumber. Because it isn’t time to even take a minuscule nibble of your succulent delicious flesh. There is nothing at all like that pursuing me, thank you very much though for your concern, but I am quite alright. Oh and it isn’t pursuing you, because something like that definitely is an illustration I just made up. In any case I hope you believe yourself to be well, or at least unaware that you are not at all safe. But you are definitely not in any danger. Definitely not. 

Anyways, Dearest Readers, I have things for you. No, not Eldritch secrets that are not meant for man to encounter and would tear fragile little minds apart at the seams. Secrets which would cause eyes to weep tears of icy, blackened, and thick blood if you heard them and turn those eyes blind as they beheld the secrets of the universe.

No, I do not have any of those, and if I did I would not share them. Because they would be mine, and I wouldn’t let you have any Dearest Readers. Unless you asked quite nicely, then I would perhaps share one small, tiny, insignificant whisper of forbidden knowledge, just to bask together in that utter silence that would follow. Not that I have any of those secrets Dearest Readers, so do not ask. I also do not have the children of ancient gods that slumber beyond the edge of the precipice of this universe. Whose children, even as infants twist and distort the fabric of reality as they try to fit themselves in our pitifully three dimensional world. Because in order to have those I would have had to have stolen them from their dark nurseries on a forgotten planet watched by a tireless deity with six thousand unblinking eyes of a color that does not exist in this universe. Or puppies. I do not have any puppies for you Dearest Readers. I apologize for that. What I do have are stories. Some of them are scary. Some are not. Some are about love. Some most certainly are not. 

“Where do these stories come from?” You ask of your own free will, and not because a government agent has your loved ones at gun point. I made them up. Yes, that is exactly what I did. I did not ask for tales during an exorcism. I did not win secrets by playing games of cards with fey lords and wagering my soul. I definitely did not interrogate the souls of a long dead mummy prince for secrets. I definitely never stole a usb drive from the breast pocket of a still warm body of a government agent of some unknown agency. And his name definitely wasn’t John Smith. I also did not tear pages from an Eldritch Tome found in a creepy house on the corner of the street. I did talk to ghosts. Which, as an aside Dearest Readers, I can recommend coffee with ghosts. Some of them are lovely people. In any case, I made up these stories. If you recognize anything in these stories it is absolutely and totally a coincidence. 

So of course, enjoy these stories. These entirely fictitious stories. These completely and totally fake stories. And if these stop do not worry. I definitely have not angered demons that wish to tear my body asunder in a fury. I also have definitely not been in a government arranged accident for spreading secrets that they wish kept. Nor have any wizards, sorcerers, witches, warlocks, cultists, and especially not someone who taught me magic in the first place, finally gotten tired of my ceaseless shenanigans and decided to turn me back into an owl. Not that I have ever been an owl, toad, pig (literally), or black lab mutt puppy called Rex or Poopsie. Though, Susan, if you read this, thank you for giving your darling Poopsie so many delightful belly rubs. No, if I stop posting it is because I am out of stories. That is all. 

Also, if ever you meet me, and you shall know it, do not be afraid to tell me a story. Do not be afraid of that. That is absolutely the last thing you should be afraid about if you meet me. 

In any case Dearest Readers, enjoy these: Truly Terrible Tales. 

Sincerely and Hopefully For A While,

Mr. TKH Hamilton 

P.S. Everything is perfectly fine


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